


Q is for Quagmire

by MariaPriest



Series: Stargate Drabbles' Alphabet Challenge [18]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: O'Neill is captured by Russians in Afghanistan.





	Q is for Quagmire

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series: Early fall 1988, between the first and second phases of Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan
> 
> Related episode "A Matter of Time"

Within seconds of the syringe disgorging its contents into his vein, Jack swooned at the rush that flooded his brain. It warmed his chilled, shirtless, bruised body. Moments later, he was nodding. Smiling. Floating. Higher. Look, ma, no wings.

So familiar yet different from his old friend and enemy, "Vitamin M" - morphine. So desired, even needed, which he hadn't realized until this moment. It had been so long - was it already more than five years since his fall from the sky and the wretched pain of so many broken bones and grueling physical therapy? - but the memory and the yearning were still there, coming out of hiding.

He knew the words, the syntax, even the idioms, but paid no mind to the conversation in Russian being carried on in front of him.

"He takes to this like a baby takes to its mother's teat. How many more doses before you think he will tell us what he knows about Typhoon?"

"Five, maybe six."

"Is that all? That does not seem like much."

"Look at his scars, Vitaly. They speak of major injuries. He probably has been addicted in the past. He will not take long to belong to us. He will tell us _everything_ we want to know and he will do everything you want for another dose." The man looked down with disdain on the prisoner curling up on the concrete floor.

Jack didn't see Vitaly lick his lips or adjust his private parts. Even if he had seen the Russian soldier do these things, he wouldn't have cared. He even hoped on one level that there would be no rescue. He slipped into the comforting fuzziness and let the fantastic daydreams begin.

QQQQ

Colonel George Hammond ran a hand in frustration over his thinning hair, unjustly angry at Booker Vidrine for nearly dying from a ruptured appendix. Because of that, Hammond suddenly found himself in Pakistan near the Afghan border. Somehow he was the only available colonel acceptable to the CIA to cover Vidrine's medical leave. What was much worse than his abrupt deployment that might last long enough for him to miss his daughter's wedding, though, was the fact that he didn't know enough to fill a very small hand basket headed for hell about running black ops teams.

"You're a smart man, Hammond," the CIA agent had told him. "You catch on fast, make quick, solid decisions. Besides, the action is slowing down. There are only a few teams out there and they're just gathering intel. Making sure the Russkies are sticking to their get-out-of-Dodge plan."

Boy howdy, if George had been a bee, he'd have enough honey to start a factory, thanks to that sweet-talker.

And just minutes ago, a little over 15 hours after his arrival on base, still shaking off the last remnants of jet lag, he received a panicked call filled with static from another spook partnered with an Air Force SpecOps officer.

The best George could make out was that the agent had come back from seeing a man about the proverbial horse to find his partner, call sign Star Dog, gone, as well as the villagers. The spook was in hiding, had some intel, and was requesting back-up. The coordinates he gave were not entirely clear, but with luck ...

He checked the files of active operations. It was the third one in. Details were rather thin. It simply named Star Dog as the military personnel, Red Rover as the CIA operative, and the classified map coordinates of the villages they were scouting for intelligence. More information was available at headquarters in Karachi, but he didn't have time for that, nor did he need it. The only thing he needed was a team to find them and bring them home _now_.

_We are **not** leaving you behind_ , Hammond thought as he pulled the first file - indicative of the first up in the rotation for search and rescue - out of the ready team folder. _Not on my watch_.

The leader, Grizzly, headed a four-man team of one other officer, a staff sergeant, and a senior airman. Hammond closed the file, shoved it under his arm, and headed for his assistant's office. _Time to get this show on the road_.

QQQQ

"Star Dog? Yeah, I met him once in passing. Tough bastard. Heard he crawled through the desert for nine days with a broken head," said the man known as Grizzly. "Top sniper too, so I hear. So he's gone missing?"

Hammond appraised the younger man as he spoke. Big man, body thick with muscle, black hair lightly peppered with salt, an air of confidence he suspected came from his ability to handle virtually anything thrown at him. A good man to have your back. He had no idea what Grizzly's real name was, or rank, just that he was Air Force. He supposed that was the way SpecOps did things in-country - especially with an outsider.

"Apparently disappeared without a trace." George filled him in on what little he knew and finished with, "Bring 'em _both_ home."

"Abso-fucking-lutely, sir. Nobody gets left behind."

Hammond let his disapproval show at the improper use of profanity but let it slide, figuring it was part of the SpecOps subculture. And truly, in the whole scheme of things, that was very minor at the moment. In the whole scheme of things, they needed their men back and the intel they had.

"Dismissed. And Godspeed."

QQQQ

Third dose. Jack was counting, hoping his captors' generosity would continue for many more hits. Heroin was so much sweeter than morphine. Amazing what a little chemical manipulation could do. He was still high as shit but wanted more. Much more.

So sweet.

QQQQ

Given the garbled coordinates Red Rover had transmitted and the mission plan, Grizzly's team came up with several possible villages where the spook and Star Dog could have been when the latter went missing. Grizzly arranged for a CIA helicopter for Operation Retriever.

The team was climbing into the copter when the pilot got word that an early-season snowstorm had developed in the area of operations. "Get us as close as you can, ace. We'll hang tight until the storm's over."

"Roger that, Grizz," the pilot said as he began the pre-flight checklist with his co-pilot. "We'll bring 'em back alive, just a little frozen and overdue."

QQQQ

It had been a while since his last dose, and O'Neill was feeling increasingly jittery. He sighed with relief when his current best buddy strolled into his cell, wearing a shit-eating grin and carrying a syringe in his hand.

The man, accompanied by Vitaly who stayed a respectful foot behind and to the right, stopped at Jack's feet. The man looked down at him. "Well, my friend," he said in English, "I must apologize for taking so long to return to you with my gift. Something important took my attention and I forgot. Forgive me, please."

O'Neill licked his cracked lips, failing to notice that there was no moisture. Hydration was not exactly something he had cared about for more than a few hours; besides, the revolting water they doled out had run out some time ago. He only cared about what was in that syringe. "Yeah, sure, no problem," he croaked through his dry throat. He placed his elbow on his knee and extended his arm to expose the most likely injection site. "Make it up to me now, why don'tcha, comrade."

The man smirked his contempt at the prisoner. Getting him hooked had been easier than anticipated. "Ah, my little dove wants to fly more, yes?"

Jack shuddered when he felt bugs crawling all over him. He _hated_ bugs. Instead of brushing them off, he shook himself hard. "You betcha. C'mon, give." He hated himself for sounding so desperate. For _being_ so desperate.

The man nodded to his companion, who scurried to Jack's side and squatted. In no time, he had a tourniquet tightened on Jack's outstretched arm. Vitaly sniffed the prisoner, and his eyes glazed and his breath quickened with lust despite the stench of filth coming from the man. "We make you feel good, yes? Soon it will be your turn to make me feel good." He reached for Jack's crotch. Jack didn't hear or see anything; he was focused 100% on the syringe that was taking way too long to get to him.

"Vitaly," the man said sternly.

Disappointed because he hadn't made contact, Vitaly quickly withdrew his hand and had the good sense to look contrite.

"My apologies for Vitaly, my dove. He is quite smitten with you, which makes it difficult for him to express his ... affections at a more appropriate time."

O'Neill snarled his impatience. "Yeah, yeah, he's forgiven. What are you waitin' for? I turn into a pumpkin at midnight." God, but his muscles ached.

The man crouched until he was eye to eye with the American. "We mustn't permit that to happen," he said, sounding as greasy as his slicked-back hair. He slid the cap off the needle and squirted a few drops onto Jack's pants. He smiled at the terror - terror that the dose would be wasted - in the bloodshot, dark brown eyes. In Russian, he said, "Very soon, my little dove, you will be my big traitor."

The instant the needle pierced the bulging vein, Jack's expression changed from panic to relief. Vitaly removed the tourniquet.

Then there was the rush, and the warmth, the bliss. Flight again. The agitation melted away, as did the bugs and the aches. Jack chuckled and nodded. "Damn," he uttered, "tha's good."

The two Russians stood. They watched O'Neill nod and grin inanely for several minutes.

"Boris, this was his fifth shot. One more, you think?"

Before Boris could answer, Jack snickered. " _Boris?_ Your name is _Boris_?" He snickered again. "Where's Natasha? Left you, did she? Stuck you with Vittles-y. You must be _really_ pissed." This time, he chortled uncontrollably.

Boris's face crimsoned in anger. It was only considerable self-restraint that prevented him from kicking the insolent captive into a lump of broken bones and bleeding flesh. A few seconds later, he said, "You have an ... interesting sense of humor, though your Russian references are somewhat dated." He smiled. "So now you know my name. It would be only fair that you finally tell us yours now."

Jack rocked his head to and fro until he could look up at the keeper of his pharmaceutical euphoria. The cold, dead eyes burned into him, dampening his buzz and instilling certainty that he would not be leaving this cell, unless it was in a pine box.

What did he have to lose?

"I'm a horse with no name. Get it? _Horse?_ Heroin?" Peals of coarse laughter filled the air.

An unamused Boris glowered at the pathetic, soiled creature rolling around on the floor and hugging his abdomen. "Bring him some water, Vitaly. And do _not_ touch him. Yet." Boris decided that once the prisoner had told them everything and Vitaly was through with whatever depravities he had planned, the ugly American's last injection would be a poison that would cause a nasty, long death instead of an overdose of opiate.

QQQQ

The weather finally cooperated, melting the wet snow rapidly under a bright, crystal-clear sky. Operation Retriever was now fully underway.

Grizzly had the pilot hover in the vicinity of the site they had calculated to be the most likely hiding place for Red Rover. The team rappelled the remaining way to the rocky ground, and the copter banked away to a more secure location to wait for pick-up orders.

Mandrake, the other officer on the team, quickly determined the direction in which they should go and gave the necessary hand signals. From here on in, there would be no talking and - hopefully - no other sound.

Mandrake took lead, followed by Grizzly, Harpoon, and Willie Wonka. They wound their way through the challenging, mountainous terrain as swiftly as possible. Forty-five hard minutes later, they heard movement behind a boulder. Instantly, all four men went into a high crouch. Two of them trained their guns on the boulder, while the other two began constant sweeps of the surrounding area.

"Hey, fellas, it's Red Rover!" Two hands, palms out, rose above the rock.

"Come out slowly and keep your hands up," commanded Grizzly.

The CIA agent did as he was told. "Am I happy to see you guys! Been kinda worried that my message didn't get through. Radio went on the fritz."

Grizzly studied the man. Tan, bearded, dark-haired, hazel-eyed man in his mid-30s, medium height and build. CIA's typical non-descript recruit, and he matched the photograph. "Today's code."

Red Rover shivered then stamped his feet and rubbed his arms vigorously. "Sorry, I'm a little hypothermic. Uh, what's the day?"

"Thursday."

"Uh, that would make it ... pencil neck!"

Everyone took deep breaths. Grizzly and Wonka lowered their weapons. "Wonk, give him your blanket. Let's get under some cover so Rover can fill us in on what happened."

"This way, guys. I've got me a little hidey-hole with none of the comforts of home." He ducked behind the boulder with the team following him and into a shallow cave. Within five minutes, they had all the intel Red Rover had, including what he and Star Dog had learned about Typhoon.

QQQQ

The village was a relatively short but arduous trek from Rover's safe place. By this time, it had been re-populated with mostly women, children, and old men. A few armed younger men were sentries on the outskirts of the village. One of those in the wider perimeter was out cold, thanks to Harpoon's sleeper hold.

Grizzly, Mandrake, and Rover were stretched out on their bellies where the unconscious man had stood guard.

"I've been doing some surveillance since I called in," Red Rover began. "The people started coming back home a few hours after they disappeared. Star Dog wasn't with them. They must have a plan to scatter whenever unfriendlies show up. I'm thinking someone gave a signal. Dog didn't understand, and they got the drop on him. You know, he did think the place was hinky. I didn't think so, but he's got this weird sixth sense."

"And you _left_ him knowing that about him and his hunches?"

"Hey, back off. A man's gotta go when a man's gotta go, Grizzly. How was I to know the village's latrines were so far away?"

"Fine," the team leader said, making his unhappiness with the spook's decision to leave his partner alone known, given what appeared to be the man's history of suspicions being confirmed.

They observed only until the sentry returned to consciousness. The local recognized Rover, and assured them that the village was safe to enter now.

QQQQ

Red Rover was busy talking in Dari with a number of the inhabitants, while Grizzly and Mandrake studied the people around them. It was Grizzly who spotted a frightened woman and a stick-thin boy of about five on the edge of the crowd. With a jerk of his head to communicate his intention to Mandrake, Grizzly casually made his way to the woman.

What was probably a major violation of local custom, the team leader spoke directly with the woman. After much cajoling and reassurances she would be okay, he found out that Star Dog had befriended them, giving them his rations and playing with the boy. The four men in Soviet uniforms had come into the village quietly. The leader had pointed his weapon at the young boy's chest and promised to kill him if Star Dog didn't go with them quietly.

As the woman told her story, Grizzly noticed that her eyes kept darting to one of the older men. A quick appraisal told him the man looked healthier and carried a bit more weight than the others, as well as wore somewhat nicer clothes. Grizzly concluded that villager was a paid informer. As unobtrusively as possible, he used subtle hand and head gestures to tell Mandrake what they were going to do.

Mandrake worked his way over to the other flank of the old man undetected by the target. Moments after both were in position, Grizzly shouted to the man in Dari to raise his hands, while he and Mandrake trained their weapons on the man's chest.

"Where is the other American?" Grizzly kept his voice low but intimidating.

The old man stared defiantly at Grizzly until he looked down at the two illuminated, unwavering hot pink dots over his heart. Cowed, he looked up. What the invaders had given him was not worth his life. "I radio the Soviets and they take him."

"Where?"

"I am not sure, but there are several buildings that the Soviets built and used in the past. It is in a valley not far from here."

"Show us."

Mandrake loosely secured his gun and had his civilian map out before Grizzly could give him the command. It took a few minutes to orient the old man to the map and determine how long it would take to walk there. "Got it," he told Grizzly. "A few hours, give or take."

"One more thing, old man. Where is the radio you use to speak with the Soviets?" As the Afghan hurriedly reached under his robes, Grizzly warned, "Carefully. Slowly."

He complied with the order. Soon, he was handing the satellite phone to Mandrake.

"You are fortunate that you will live to see the sun set today, old man," Grizzly declared. Then to all those gathered around them, he said, "This woman has bravely risked her life to help another. No one will cause harm to her or her son in any way. When I return and I see she is unharmed and because of her bravery, my country will help you with what you need."

Without being told, Red Rover, now with Wonka's sat phone, stayed in the village to protect the woman and to call in a sitrep. The rescue team departed at a fast clip.

QQQQ

Shot number six had come just in time. Boris had waited longer to shoot him up, making the withdrawal symptoms worse than they were before number five. This shot was the most potent and sweetest one yet. If he got any higher, he'd need extra oxygen. He would have enjoyed it more if he hadn't known what was coming next. As soon as he'd figured out what the enemy's plan was, which was after the beating stopped and the first syringe showed up, he had started preparing himself mentally but it was extremely tough to resist the narco-seductress who had ruthlessly tightened her grip - a grip she had had on him for years - around his brain.

This whole fiasco had just added fuel to the fire of his hatred for the Soviets, as if the butchery of innocent Afghans, the wholesale destruction of villages, and the reports of vicious rapes weren't kindling enough. Addicting him again then holding out until he would give up anything and everything for another hit. Threatening to kill that little boy if he didn't surrender simply made his hate burn that much brighter.

He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

He hoped.

But he craved riding that "horse," never wanting to dismount.

What a crappy fix he was in. He snorted when he realized the double meaning. And it had been almost seven hours since that last hit, if he could depend on his internal clock, and withdrawal would come too soon. Next time, he figured, Boris would hold his fix until he was in full-blown withdrawal. Until he talked. Then he would die, probably an OD, never to see or hear or hold Sara and Charlie again.

_Fuckin' rat bastards!_

A few salty tears filled his eyes. They never fell as he steeled himself to fight to the end - an end that he prayed would come before any rescue so no one would see him like this, would know how easily he'd caved to the allure of chemical rapture.

QQQQ

The hike to the facility had taken the SAR team much longer than Mandrake's estimate, thanks to several rock slides and a brief ice storm. By the time they arrived at the camp nearly 72 hours after Red Rover's call for help, tiredness and frustration ruled, in addition to the growing worry that Star Dog probably was dead by this time.

Taking a much needed rest combined with the difficulty in identifying patterns of activity in and around the compound of three buildings translated to the team spending more hours than they wanted to observing. Eventually, they formulated an entry and exit strategy and radioed their pick-up the coordinates and the ETA for the extraction. They readied themselves for the invasion: ball caps turned backwards, hand guns with full clips and a round chambered, safeties off the guns and the scabbards, all metal immobilized or covered, and more.

Ninety minutes after the six perimeter guards changed for the overnight shift, the team made their move. Four of the guards were taken out silently and simultaneously. The remaining two at the gate fell victim to Harpoon's precisely delivered arrows from his crossbow.

They passed through the gate and into the small compound undetected - or at least there were no alarms sounding. Swiftly, they entered the main building, having determined earlier that one of the smaller buildings was a dormitory and the other a storage shed.

As expected, the entry way was dark and quiet. They stole noiselessly through the corridors, checking each room for occupants and clues. They found no one and nothing useful.

Until they neared a door in the center of the building, when they heard a pitiable wail followed by a heartbreaking, groveling "Please!" In unaccented English. It had to be Star Dog.

Grizzly signaled for the other three to watch his back. They listened to the conversation on the other side of the closed door.

A sinister laugh that chilled them all to the bone answered the anguished plea. "Not until you tell me what you know about Operation Typhoon, my little dove." The seemingly affectionate words were out of place with the jeering tone in the Russian-accented English.

Grizzly unbuttoned the tac vest pocket that held his periscope. He was surprised to see his hand trembling. He snatched a deep breath and slowly pulled the device out.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, I'm not a weatherman! Typhoon, hurricane, gale, tempest in a teapot. They're all the same to me! Now smack me!"

The sharp snap of hand hitting flesh followed by a thud came as Grizzly readied the periscope for use. _What the hell? He's **asking** to be hit?_ It didn't take much for him to surmise the situation behind the door was dire.

"You insolent fool! Tell me what you know!"

"Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a knot. Promise you won't tell anybody, but my favorite soap opera - excuse me, _daytime drama_ \- is 'General Hospital.'"

Grizzly used every ounce of willpower to keep from laughing out loud at the absurd confession and at the voice that exuded contempt and sarcasm. He slipped the business end of the scope beneath the door when he heard Star Dog grit out another "Smack me!"

Another slap and thud assailed the team's ears. Each man tensed, imagining at what was happening to one of their own in that room. Grizzly knew they were all taming the adrenaline surge to action. He had to step on it before they lost that edge or before they were discovered by some Russian soldier with insomnia.

Grizzly saw a large room divided into an anteroom with several barred cells that were separated by thin plywood walls. All the doors were closed. Inside the center cell were two large men in civilian clothes, their backs to the room's door, making it impossible to see if they were armed. Their positions obscured all of the prisoner except for the lower half of the filthy desert camo pants and socks.

qqqq

That last love-to-hate-you tap - the fifth by his count, but Jack wouldn't swear to it - had his teeth cut the inside of his mouth. Blood leaked fairly quickly from the laceration and once his mouth was full, he spat the blood on Boris's dress slacks.

At least he thought it was Boris. He was tearing so badly and sweating so profusely that everything was blurred beyond recognition. He wiped the snot flowing from his runny nose then struggled to get back to his knees.

Time to get back to work. "Guess your favorite is 'The Old and the Not Much to Look At.'"

Boris snorted and waited until the prisoner was more or less stable before demanding again, "What do you know?"

_Ah, progress. Twice he hasn't dished out any of that 'little dove' crap. Okay, Jack, think_ , he prodded himself. Thinking was getting harder to do as the abdominal cramping started, hard and fast, not to mention how badly he was jonesing for a hit. If history repeated itself, his bowels would betray him soon.

"The cow jumped over the moon and that naughty dish ran away with the spoon. So smack me!" Jack held out his arm but readied for another strike to the face.

Boris lost all patience and with a fury that added power to his hand, backhanded the impudent American with enough force to send him scudding a few feet across the floor.

That was enough to send Jack into spasms of gastrointestinal release from both ends.

For the briefest of moments, he wanted to die. To be humiliated like this in front of his tormentors was a profound affront to his personal dignity and more than he was willing to take. But it was not more than he could stand.

He renewed his pledge to himself to drive Boris totally whack-o. Bonkers. Cuckoo. Show that Russian rat bastard who really was in control here.

qqqq

Grizzly stared at the face spitting out a nursery rhyme. It was Star Dog beneath the swollen eyes, the ruby-red, puffy cheeks that would turn to bruises. He was naked from the waist up, and his arms and torso showed older bruises through a streaked crust of muck. The team leader also saw defiance and determination in the tired, battered body.

Then Star Dog held out his arm, turning it so the underside pointed up. Grizzly added up the prisoner's condition and his repeated near-command to smack ...

_Jesus H Christ!_ Grizzly wanted to shout as it hit him that these sons of bitches had strung Star Dog out. In that same instant, he got what Star Dog was doing: taunting his captor with false pleas for another fix but really wanting the hit to be physical, to help him focus.

_You are one clever, tough mutha, Dog._

Then Star Dog suffered explosive vomiting and diarrhea. Trying to keep from gagging out loud at the sight and smell, Grizzly forced his pity into anger. Those sons of bitches were dead men; they just didn't know it yet.

qqqq

Jack lay there, trying to gather his scrambled wits and keep from spewing again. All he knew was that his plan was working and he still dominated the agitation coursing through him. He could feel the craze-tinged rage building up in Boris. And though he would have preferred to get the liquid smack to keep himself from giving Boris what he wanted, the hand smack was successful.

If his luck was even close to good, Boris would beat him to death or kill him with one last hit within the next few minutes. That was about as long as he could hold out before he would spill everything he knew for a shot to obliterate the miserable agony he was in.

"I ask you one more time, American dog. What do you know?"

Even through the turmoil in his brain, Jack detected a distant edginess in Boris's voice.

_Time to push the sadistic Russky over that edge_. Finally, his thinking crystallized enough that he found some words.

"I know Wayne Gretzky is hockey personified," he said, slurring the words he fought so hard to form into comprehensible sentences. "And the National League probably won't ever adopt the designated hitter rule. I know the wizard didn't give the tin man anything he already had. I know you're an alcoholic pile of shit who would turn your own _babushka_ over to the KGB for a shot of vodka." Jack braced for impact.

qqqq

Grizzly rapidly withdrew the periscope, collapsed it, and shoved it back into its pocket. A second later he had the attention of his team. In a few more seconds, his hands told his team the layout of the room, the number of people within it and their locations, and the plan for taking their brother-in-arms into their custody.

The three men nodded their comprehension and readied to enter the room.

Grizzly slowly depressed the door lever. Thankfully, there was no sound. He pushed, and the door yielded a few millimeters. Exhaling with relief that it wasn't locked, he nodded once and pushed the door further and much more quickly, keeping his hand on the lever to keep the door from flying open too quickly and banging against the wall.

The effort was wasted, however, because the hinges creaked so loudly and sharply that they sounded like gunshots.

qqqq

Jack flinched at the sound of gunshots, giving his goose bumps goose bumps of their own. He was almost relieved that his death would come faster than if he'd been beaten.

But he didn't feel anything puncture his body. And he didn't recognize the type of gun that fired the shots. And he didn't smell cordite.

Finally, he recognized the sound - the damn door! He wondered who the new visitors were.

Then he was aware of Boris squatting near him. A split second later he heard a slurpy thunk that seemed to come from Vitaly's direction.

Footsteps. Fast and faint. Sounded like USAF-issued boots for special ops teams.

Rescue?

_Oh, God, just kill me and go away!_

Just as fast as that plea formed, it disappeared. He still had work to do.

qqqq

Their best-laid plan went all to hell, but the team adjusted instantly. Harpoon, the first man in, lined up his shot and sent the arrow through the neck of the standing man.

The second man in was Mandrake. He took aim at the enemy huddled near Star Dog and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet hit one of the bars instead of its target and ricocheted, which then grazed Wonka's head and sent him to the floor like a rock despite the adrenaline feeding him. Grizzly had to step over him to get into the room. He was just in time to see the remaining target fire a small handgun.

Mandrake stifled a cry of pain as the bullet ripped through his knee. He crumpled to the floor, desperately trying to maintain his balance. He decided not to take another shot because he didn't trust his aim, especially with Star Dog so close to the target. It was up to Grizzly and Harpoon now.

qqqq

Jack's nostrils filled with gunsmoke and his ears reverberated from a shot fired too closely for his prickly, sweaty brain to handle. He lost control of his agitation, which paradoxically ended up giving him enough clarity that he saw Boris turning away to take aim at another intruder.

Rage supplied him with temporary speed and calm. He rose to his knees, unerringly found Boris's chin with one hand. Tilting the captor's head back, he swiftly twisted the head back even more and to the side in one move with his other hand. His reward was the sound of neck bones grinding against each other unnaturally as they dislocated and mutilated the spinal cord.

A paralyzed but not dead Boris fell back into his prisoner.

Jack laughed maniacally. "Your little dove is gonna fly the coop, you son of a bitch," he rasped. "And he clipped your fuckin' wings." Sudden and severe abdominal cramping cut short his gloating. "Gaaahhh!"

qqqq

Frustrated by the angles he had - almost any kill shot would pass right through the target at this distance and into Star Dog - he said, "Harp." Just maybe Harpoon had a better shot at only killing the target and wounding Dog.

In the next half-second, Grizzly was staring down the barrel of a handgun and in the next one, he was staring at his savior taking out his would-be assassin.

The air filled with a strange, unexpected laugh, followed by something about birds and flying and wings.

_Holy crap!_ Grizzly thought, as he pulled on the door to the cell. Locked.

Meanwhile, Harpoon, the team medic, was bandaging Mandrake's shattered knee. As soon as he was through there, he checked on Wonka, who was already coming around but was definitely dazed and disoriented. His wound bled freely. Harp had a pressure bandage on it in seconds.

"Fire in the hole," Grizzly warned quietly as the incendiary cord sizzled through the locking device. He entered the cell and headed first to Harpoon's victim. Once he verified the man was dead, he turned to the other two.

The enemy was still alive, his eyes flitting around in a panic while he struggled to breathe. It was apparent he was suffocating to death. Grizzly pulled the man off Star Dog. He pulled out his sidearm and prepared to deliver a _coup de grâce_.

"No. Let me."

Grizzly's eyes widened in surprise. Star Dog wanted to do the deed? After what this man had put him through? Seeing the need to do this in the dilated, bloodshot eyes of the man who had just saved his life, Grizzly knew he couldn't deny him this, for whatever reason he wanted to do it. Once Star Dog was in a sitting position, he handed Dog the weapon and said, "'You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.'"

Star Dog grasped the gun butt with both hands and still almost dropped it. Taking a deep breath, his hands steadied slightly and his grip on it improved enough that he could fire it. He lowered it until the barrel was flush with Boris's left temple.

Grizzly watched, fascinated, as the two men stared at each other. The dying man's eyes were full of fear and gratitude. Star Dog's eyes, as was the rest of his face, were unreadable.

There was a chuff from the silenced gun, then Star Dog raised the gun, pointing it in the general direction of the other dead man.

There was now something readable in Dog's eyes and it sent chills racing through Grizzly.

qqqq

Ambivalence overwhelmed Jack. He was rescued - almost; they still had to get out of the compound - which meant he'd be with Sara and Charlie again. Yet he was ashamed and miserable beyond description. So tired, so wounded by the ease of his getting sucked back into the black hole of addiction, so prideful.

He couldn't decide if he were better off dead or alive.

The sweaty hand that gripped the handgun for dear life or death began shaking, until it shook harder than the rest of his body.

Even though his eyes were locked with his rescuer's, Jack finally saw them. _Stay with us_ , they told him.

Jack sighed, and gave the weapon back to its owner. "Thanks," he muttered softly.

Grizzly gave him a small but encouraging smile. "One good turn deserves another."

"I hate clichés," he groused. Immediately after, another strong cramp wracked his abdomen and once more his bowels emptied. "Shit!"

Grizzly couldn't help but grimace at the atrocious odor. "And to think the word on you is that you're dumber than a rock, and just as hard-headed."

Despite the catastrophe that was his life at the moment, Jack snickered. _I like this guy_. He collapsed to his left in agony, almost forgetting he crashed into his own filth.

Never taking his eyes off Star Dog, Grizzly said, "Harp. Sitrep."

A second later, Harpoon was at the team leader's side. "Mandrake has a career-ending injury, but with help, he can walk outta here. You know him. Wonk is conscious but loupy. He needs help getting to pickup, too. We need him, Grizz," Harpoon said as he inclined his head toward Star Dog. "Permission to --"

"Do it," Grizzly interrupted. "Give 'im a full shot. And if that's not enough, hit him with another. We gotta get out of here before the shit gets deep."

Jack harrumphed and sucked back a wad of mucus in his nose. "I already am. In deep shit. Literally."

Grizzly sniggered appreciatively at the man's unflagging sense of humor and sarcasm. _I like this guy_.

"You got it." Harpoon already had an oversized alcohol wipe ready. He roughly scrubbed the filth from Star Dog's right upper arm, then stabbed the freshly cleaned deltoid muscle with a syringe filled with 10 mg of morphine.

"Guhhhh! What the _hell_? Think I'm a beached whale?"

Grizzly chuckled. "Now you know why his call sign is 'Harpoon.'"

Jack shot both of them a very dirty look that translated to _them_ being in deep shit.

"This'll help," Harp whispered as he injected the drug.

QQQQ

Star Dog needed a second injection to get him functional. He and Mandrake, their arms around each other's waists, took lead, while Harpoon had Willie Wonka, and Grizzly had their six. Somehow, good luck was with them, and the hard hike to the pickup was uneventful.

"Dog! Good to see you, man," the helicopter pilot shouted over the noise of the rotors as they piled in. "Didn't your tour guide warn you about straying off on your own?"

"Shut up and fly, Howling Mad," Jack snarled at his friend, who was a huge fan of _The A-Team_. The morphine was already wearing off and the withdrawal symptoms were beginning to haunt him once more.

Grizzly nodded at Harpoon. A few seconds later, Jack was howling mad at the roughness of the shot. Harpoon ignored the man's comments about his parentage. He went back to securing Wonk in his chair.

Grizzly gave orders for Mad to fly them to the hospital in Peshawar and to radio this change in plans to Hammond.

No one spoke during the flight. And Jack noticed that no one looked at him, a pathetic junky coated with dirt, crap, and piss and stinking to high heaven, with pity or scorn. Instead he sensed a feeling of camaraderie coming from them. They smiled with victory on their lips, because they hadn't left one of their own behind.

Jack O'Neill was now certain he'd made the right decision in choosing life.

QQQQ

A few days later found Jack out of withdrawal and on the way to regaining the weight and strength he'd lost. It was rough trying to think about eating and exercising when thoughts of scoring another hit kept intruding. Because of that, he was scheduled for twice-daily sessions with an addiction counselor during a week's R&R in Germany. Constant supervision by an adult until his counselor released him was a condition for returning to the field. Of course that sucked, and he would have fought it, had his companion not been Sara. She was already in the air on her way to Frankfurt. Charlie was staying behind with his maternal grandparents.

Wondering who his babysitter was going to be until he boarded the C-130 late tonight, Jack was in the process of checking out of the hospital when Grizzly came up to him.

Jack smiled widely. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. When I heard they were letting you out of this place, I volunteered to pick you up."

"No, I mean thanks for coming --"

"I know what you meant," Grizzly interrupted. "It's what we do."

Jack laughed easily. "Yes, it is."

"So, I have an idea I want to run by you."

"And that would be...?"

"You remember Mandrake - I mean Major Silas Greer. He's getting a medical discharge shoved down his throat. Which leaves my team short a member. I could use someone like you on it."

" _Like_ me? How about _me_?"

Grizzly laughed. "Okay, _you_. Wanna grab something to eat while we talk about this? There's this great restaurant not far from here that has the best goat you've ever tasted."

"I can do that. Oh, by the way, name's Jack O'Neill," he said as he held his hand out.

Grizzly took Jack's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Frank Cromwell."

QQQQ

_Epilogue: 10 years later (Season 2: A Matter of Time)_

Teal'c, hands clasped behind his back, stood at his friend's bedside. "O'Neill, it appears you are more awake than you were during my last visit. Does your condition continue to improve?"

Jack winced as he carefully shifted his position. Only three lousy days since he woke up from being flung like a wet rag at warp speed through bits of glass and stopped _almost_ dead in his tracks by concrete walls and floor, and it still felt like Day One. "Not much has changed since you _last_ asked me that _two_ hours ago," he snapped. Immediately regretting his attitude, he said with appreciation, "As good as can be expected, thanks." Yes, he still ached horribly. A few cracked ribs, multiple glass fragments that had to be dug out, and deep bruises over more than half of his body definitely lent a uniqueness to this current misery.

It didn't help that Jack was intentionally rationing his use of morphine. It did help that he was getting anti-inflammatory pain killers on a regular basis. It didn't help that each time he was awake, he kept playing back that time in Afghanistan when he first met Frank Cromwell and the last acrimonious time he and Frank were together. What made it even worse was that it was _his_ choice to be an unforgiving bastard. Frank was trying so hard to be forgiven, but Jack had chosen to rebuff any attempt at reconciliation.

Certainly, Frank Cromwell having saved him from not one but _two_ hells canceled out leaving him in another, didn't it?

"There is much history between you and Colonel Cromwell," Teal'c stated in hopes of getting his friend to deal with his loss, to acknowledge the good blood as well as the bad blood between them, even if O'Neill decided to say nothing.

"Yes, there is, Teal'c." _Saved each other a few times. Made it through a lot of dicey missions together. Had a lot of barbecues. To die like that_ ... He shuddered as he recalled Carter's statement that Hank Boyd and the rest of SG-10 would be ripped apart. And Frank, too, he thought. He had let himself stay mired in a self-pitying bog of resentment and betrayal. His stomach soured at the sudden revelation that _he_ had left Frank Cromwell behind. He had left behind their friendship and bond of brotherhood. _He_ was the one who should have died, not Frank. Frank was the better man.

Teal'c stood still, patiently waiting in the silence while his brother undoubtedly contemplated many things. Once he saw O'Neill's expression change from serious to resolved to action, he said, "You wish to honor his life, do you not?"

Jack nodded several times at the Jaffa. Like Hammond, nothing got past him, either. "Yeah, I do. Could you get me a pad of paper and a pencil? I have some writing to do."

With a tiny smile lighting his face, Teal'c bowed. "I will return shortly with the requested materials." Once again, O'Neill had proven his worth and reinforced Teal'c's decision to follow him.

"Thanks." _For everything_. As he watched his newest brother leave, Jack began outlining what he would write in his letter recommending Colonel Frank Cromwell for a posthumous Airman's Medal.

the end  
© 2011

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CoriKay for the beta.
> 
> O'Neill's history of addiction (hinted at in the episode "Need") and call sign are my ideas (see my story "Research" [https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890076]). I guessed at how special ops teams might have worked in Afghanistan, as well as where bases and hospitals were. The Soviets really did have an operation "Typhoon" that occurred in January 1989.


End file.
